Morning In Cascadia
by GreenGoth
Summary: MA for consensual sex! A romantic/erotic/comic morning between Monroe & Rosalee; takes place in early Season 3 after 3.01, The Ungrateful Dead and 3.03, A Dish Best Served Cold (when Monroe asks her to move in with him). Of course they can't be left in peace for long to enjoy each other...guess who?


**Morning In Cascadia**

"I could get used to this," Rosalee told Monroe as she helped clear dishes and put away the leftover fresh fruit slices. "You spoil me rotten."

"You spoil _me_ ," he said, gathering the pans and cooking utensils he'd used making their breakfast crepes. "I can't tell you how sweet it is to share breakfast with someone I care about after so many mornings eating alone."

"What…you had Nick here all that time when he left Juliette," she teased.

"Yeah, great, that was an unalloyed joy. He'd roll down here, take some coffee and make faces…okay, I'm going to go there, _Grimm_ aces at my food!"

"Oh! Owww!" She winced at the awful pun, to Monroe's pleasure. "Well, you are a rather, um, adventurous cook. And Nick, not such an adventurous eater."

"Yeah, well, thanks to him hauling me into so many bloody, violent situations, I was mostly going full vegan while he was here just to keep my biochemistry on an even keel. Kinda hard to cook anything 'normal' when you can't even risk eggs, cheese and honey." He pulled on a striped bib apron and started running hot water for the dishes.

Rosalee stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him work. He was dressed for the day, having finished his Pilates, showered, then cooked while she was upstairs taking her turn in the shower and getting ready for another day running her busy apothecary shop. This was becoming a frequent routine since Zombie Night, with Rosalee spending nearly as many nights with Monroe as she did at her own place any more. She'd caught herself thinking of the Craftsman duplex apartment as her late brother Freddy's place again, more than her own.

The morning light filtering through the kitchen curtains caught the warm honey, brown and olive colors in his checked shirt, the one he'd worn the day they and Bud had first _woged_ for Juliette, and that same night when she and Monroe had at long last become lovers. _Well_ , she amended, _he wore that shirt until we went rushing upstairs to his bed_.

Those were good colors on him, she thought. He favored earth tones and dark greens, and they complemented his dark brown hair and beard, bringing out the highlights in his hair.

Monroe felt her watching him and flashed a quick smile. "What?"

"I just like looking at you. And, in truth, I was remembering that shirt from our first night together."

"Really? It was?" He glanced down at it. "And you remember that?"

"I do, and how wonderful it was to get you out of it…at last." She lounged in the arched doorway, arms crossed under her breasts, her dark blue and purple bohemian blouse flowing down tunic length over her jeans.

His smile widened, flashing teeth as he dunked the pans, dishes and utensils in the soapy water and glanced back at her. "I honestly don't remember what you were wearing that night, but I sure remember all the parts when you weren't wearing anything."

"Those were really good parts," she agreed. "But finally finding myself in your bedroom and both of us undressing each other, no more doubts, no more interferences…that was the best."

"It was a great night." He came over to take her by the shoulders, stroking her upper arms as he drew her close. "They've all been great nights since then. Except the ones I'm here alone. Those feel emptier than ever."

"I know. Freddy's place feels the same way, especially since the times you've stayed over. That big old brass bed feels enormous now when I'm home alone."

She put her arms around his neck and he gathered her against him for a lingering kiss. When they leaned back again Monroe shook his head. "Good thing we both have to work. We need the rest."

"Are you feeling worn out?" she teased. "Was I too much for you last night?"

"Let's say I'm feeling very relaxed. And at the same time, oddly energized. When I crawled out this morning I thought there was no way I'd get through my whole Pilates routine, but halfway through it's like I slipped into the zone; I felt great."

"All that extra aerobic exercise, maybe." Her eyes twinkled at the recent memories.

"And despite the sleep deprivation."

"Thanks for letting me sleep. I didn't even hear you come upstairs and start the shower. I slept like a log until an amorous Blutbad with wet hair climbed into the bed and started kissing me awake."

"It was only damp, I toweled it off. And you did ask for a seven-thirty wake up call. You didn't say how you wanted me to wake you." His brown eyes gleamed as he looked down into hers. "So I improvised."

Rosalee laughed. "You almost improvised us into forgetting about work and starting up all over again."

"And that would have been tragic."

"Alas, my hours aren't quite as flexible as yours. But in spite of all that we're running a little ahead of schedule. Let me help you with those dishes."

Monroe sighed. "Ah, that responsible adult stuff again. I'll get you an apron. Anything to keep you here a little longer." He pulled one out of a lower drawer. "I'll wash, you dry?"

"Sure, and you can tell me where to put things away." She rolled back the long bell sleeves on her blouse and hoped they'd stay out of the way. During their long cozy friendship phase, she'd learned her way around his kitchen fairly well except for some seldom used items, but his pantry organization system still left her baffled.

It felt awkwardly domestic standing side by side, washing up after breakfast; different than all the times she'd helped clean up after their many dinners together or with their friends before returning to her own place for the night…before they'd become lovers. They were just beginning to settle into their newly established morning routines.

Usually she had to dash out the door on their mornings-after, especially if staying the night hadn't been planned and she needed to stop by home on the way, Monroe insisting he'd handle the dishes since he didn't have to commute.

But she was feeling more and more comfortable staying over with him, less like a guest, however welcome, and more like she belonged. Yet she was constantly on guard against imposing too much on his privacy, the sanctuary that was his home. And she knew he wasn't nearly as comfortable staying at her place, away from his carefully designed, long inhabited safe space, though he'd done so a few times in the interest of fairness.

And he'd enjoyed snooping around a bit, exploring her personal space for a change while she put dinner on or took her shower the next morning. He'd laughed at the framed photo of her as a gawky, coltish "tween" among her many Irish cousins on one of her long visits there.

As they finished up, Rosalee drying the last few utensils while Monroe put away the crepe ingredients and special pan, she thought again about that wickedly delightful "wake-up call" just over an hour ago and how tempting it had been to give in to the freshly showered, naked and _inspired_ man and his tickling mustache kisses on some very delicate and usually not exposed parts of her anatomy.

Her body warmed to those thoughts and she felt that warmth flow down and settle as yearning deep between her thighs.

 _Rosalee, girl_ , she admonished herself, _you're becoming greedy and insatiable! And after last night_ ….

Thinking of last night did not help her predicament one bit.

"Well, that about does it," he said as cheerily as he could manage, knowing the time had come for her to leave. He took her apron and folded it before shedding his own. "Guess it's off to work we go."

She couldn't help a deep, reluctant sigh. "Guess so. I better go get my stuff."

This was her cue to go back upstairs, retrieve her purse and overnight things and come back down for a farewell kiss in his workroom on her way out the door. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither eager for her to leave. Then, resignedly, Monroe echoed her sigh and gave her a quick smile.

"Well…you know where I'll be when you come down."

He turned and started through the short hallway under the staircase toward his workroom and the hours of intense concentration and meticulous workmanship that awaited him amid myriad tiny clock parts and the expensive and intricate timepieces entrusted to him by his clients.

Rosalee hesitated at the foot of the stairs, watching him go. Then impulsively she went after him, laying a hand on his sleeve and gently clasping his arm. Surprised, he stopped and turned to her.

"Monroe…." she began, then stopped, her lips slightly parted and something imploring in her liquid brown eyes, something she wanted to say, but hesitated.

"Honey?" He looked down at her, questioning. She licked her lips before pressing them together, eyes widening just a little. Gently he asked again, placing a fond hand on her waist. "Rosalee…what?"

She took a soft breath and decided to just go for it. "I love the way we make love. I love when we can have our long nights together, like last night, and waking up with you."

"I do, too, obviously." He raised an eyebrow. "But I'm sensing a 'but' here somewhere." He closed his hands on her upper arms, thumbs stroking her through the soft fabric of her blouse, feeling suddenly clueless. _And I thought things were going so well_ …. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, not at all. Oh, damn, I was afraid I'd make it sound that way." She lowered her eyes, then looked up to meet his again, seeing them filled with concern. "You're such a generous lover. You take so much time with me, make me feel so cherished…and so hot."

He smiled at that and visibly relaxed a bit. "And…?"

"And…" she managed a smile and blushed a little, "sometimes, do…do you ever just feel like…having a quickie?"

His shoulders shook with soft laughter as he bowed his head at this unexpected proposition. When he met her eyes again, his were sparkling with amusement and mischief.

"Rosalee, I'm a guy. Whatever else I may be, I'm still a guy. Of course sometimes I'd love a 'quickie'. So far that just hasn't been the way we roll."

She rested her hands on his waist, sliding her thumbs inside the waistband of his khakis. "I love the romancing and the long, sweet…and wild, nights. We needed that especially when we were first learning how to be with each other. But now and then I just look at you and I want to…I just want you right now."

His smile widened, showing teeth. "Right now is good. Right now is pretty much always good."

"I mean, I wouldn't come after you when you're all involved with a repair job, or practicing your cello, or…."

"On the phone with my parents? That would be interesting." He widened his eyes at her and was rewarded with Rosalee's scandalized laugh.

"Never!"

He squeezed her arms. "You come after me any time you want…and is it okay if I come after you?"

"Yes! Of course. As long as…for both of us…with no hurt feelings, the answer can sometimes be 'Later, honey,' if we're not really in the mood or need to be doing something else?"

He gave a quick and obvious glance at the hallway clocks. "Like, be on time for work?"

"Sure, time pressure doesn't make for fun sex." She stroked her hands up his chest and let them rest there. "But we don't always need a whole hour, or two, or…"

"Six, or twelve," he laughed softly, and she smiled broadly in acknowledgement.

"It only takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the shop." She fingered the buttons on his shirt and started unfastening the top one. "And so what if I'm a little late once in awhile, unless I have an appointment." She stopped after the second button and looked up at him. "Oh…do you have an appointment?"

He shook his head slightly, corners of his mouth pulled down. "But I seem to have one now, with a hot, feisty Fuchsbau." He let his hands glide down her arms and up again, over her shoulders and down her back, drawing her closer. Her answering smile was radiant.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt while he stroked her back, letting his hands drift down to gently squeeze her bottom through her jeans. Then he brought them up under her long blouse to her waist, following her belt around to the front and deftly unbuckling it. The metal button behind it gave way next, and he started to tug on her zipper.

Then he stopped and chuckled as she attempted to pull off his shirt. "Cuff buttons…unless you want my arms restrained."

She laughed and went to work on the buttons at his wrists. "Right…I don't want any part of you restrained."

"Well…good to know." He nuzzled into her neck while she worked, trailing soft nips and kisses from her collarbone up to her ear, then taking her earlobe between his teeth.

She plucked at his loose sleeves and he obligingly held his arms out so she could pull off his shirt. He didn't see or care where it landed. She was tugging his dark green T-shirt loose from the waist of his pants when he covered her hands with his and drew them away long enough to seize the hem of her blouse and lift it off over her head, Rosalee gracefully raising her arms to help.

The blouse drifted to the floor, falling over his shirt. She felt his warm hands on her back, then her bra suddenly loose as he unhooked it. He drew her close with one hand open on her back, the other gliding around to cup her breast under the bra.

Rosalee moaned and rocked against him, resting her forehead on his chest while he caressed her. She reached up with both hands and ran her fingers through his hair, over the nape of his neck and through his beard as Monroe stroked her breast, gently squeezed her nipple and circled it again with his thumb, his other hand sliding down her back to press their lower bodies closer.

She felt his aroused enthusiasm for her suggestion through the fabric of their pants and gave a throaty laugh, sliding her hands down to go to work on his belt buckle. In moments she had him unbuckled and unzipped, stroking his erection through the thin cotton of his shorts.

Monroe caught his breath in a hiss of pleasure and quickly unzipped her jeans, tugging down on her waistband. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe and wriggling a little to help.

"So we're going to do this right here in the hall?" he asked, nuzzling into her hair while he worked her jeans down past her hips.

"Works for me," she gasped, flushed with excitement and holding onto him, feeling the cool air touch her exposed lower back, bottom and thighs.

Monroe turned them around so her back would be against the wall of clocks instead of the back of the staircase with its long row of coat hooks and hanging jackets. As he moved to press her body against it, he immediately realized their problem. Glancing up and down the hallway adorned with multiple clocks, he observed dryly, "We have a definite lack of open wall space."

Rosalee, her head bracketed by a large octagonal clock and another with two dials in a vertical frame, shifted her eyes from one side to the other. There was even less space between the other four clocks displayed along the hall between the bathroom and Monroe's workshop doorway. "I see what you mean."

They both laughed. Monroe was not one to leave a square foot of useful wall space undecorated.

"You were going to take me up against the wall?"

"That was the plan…much as I had one."

Rosalee's eyes danced above her widening wicked smile. "We still can…." She leaned forward to kiss him, drawing him down with her hands locked behind his neck and he enfolded her, kissing back hungrily.

She devoured his lips and tongue, her kiss deep and passionate, and when they drew back for breath she gave him a saucy smile and turned around to face the wall, pressing her palms flat against it, leaning on her arms and arching forward to lift her bottom toward him.

"Really?" He laughed with delight and went quickly about the business of pulling her jeans and undies down from her thighs to her ankles. Stopping there, he kissed her bare bottom and said, "With our boots on?"

She shivered and laughed at the same time, the tickle of his mustache kiss on that sensitive skin sending a thrill through her body. "Why not? With our boots on!"

Rosalee felt naughty and exposed, leaning against the wall with her pants down around her ankles and her bra hanging loosely from its straps, her breasts swaying free of it while Monroe ran his hands over her whole body, caressing and exciting her. It was exquisite not being able to see what he was doing to her, each new touch a surprise.

He stroked and fondled her breasts while trailing kisses down her back, then ran his hands over the newly familiar curves and swells of her firm belly, waist and thighs.

"You have the most elegant, gorgeous ass on the planet," he told her, squeezing its cheeks and rubbing his beard over the soft flesh before kissing and nipping her there.

She yipped, startled at the feel of his teeth, and squirmed with pleasure in his grasp. "I forgot how susceptible you are to a full moon."

He rocked back with a hearty laugh. "Helpless, in fact! No restraint whatsoever…."

She felt his hands leave her body just long enough to finish stripping off his T-shirt and pulling his own pants down out of the way. Then they were on her again, stroking up the inner sides of her calves and thighs, pressing her legs apart.

She shifted her feet as wide apart as she could, restricted by her jeans around her ankles and boots, and gave a little cry of need when he rewarded her efforts with a gentle stroke to the cleft between her thighs.

One hand resting possessively on her bottom, he ran his fingers through her soft curls and caressed the pouting outer lips, tracing them with two fingertips up and down and around before gently parting them to explore her inner lips and circle her swelling bud.

Rosalee dropped her head and moaned, pressing herself into his hand. She felt his hard cock rub against her bottom from side to side as he fondled her intimately.

"Monroe, please, now…."

He teased her a moment longer, dipping his fingertips between her moist pussy lips, spreading her own juices over the firm shaft of her clit and at last, her clit itself. She cried out and arched back against him, begging for release.

"You're wet enough to let me in now," he murmured to her, stroking her one more time and eliciting a long needy moan. "Just making sure."

"Okay, yes. Yes! Stop being a gentleman now and – "

Before she could finish, he'd seized her hips and lifted her slightly, parting her thighs just a little more, and entered her with a deep thrust.

Rosalee gave a strangled and exultant cry as he filled her. Her fingers arched on the wall as she pressed her weight on her palms.

He was definitely not being a gentleman now. Rosalee moaned her encouragement, head bowed, her long brown hair tumbling down around her face as he vigorously took her there in the little hallway.

She opened her eyes and looked down the length of her body toward her parted legs, seeing his strong fingers curled around the edge of her pelvis as he held her in place and his powerful thighs thrusting against her as he filled her, pulled back and filled her again, groaning with each blissful effort.

She shifted in his grasp, angling her bottom a little higher so his strokes rubbed her just where she needed it most. He gave a low growl of approval and intensified his thrusting. She relaxed into him, opened to him completely and all words fled from her mind as she gave herself over to the wonderfully primitive sensations of being taken from behind by her lover.

Monroe's phone trilled from somewhere on the floor.

"Oh, HELL, no!" he snarled, and she gave a gasping laugh. He squeezed her bottom and kept thrusting, both of them laughing between ragged breaths.

Rosalee felt that strong surge of delicious tension rising and swelling inside her until she was ready to burst. She threw her head back, eyes closed, tensing under him, moving to meet his thrusts as best she could in this submissive position.

He was relentless, taking her with lust and love, feeling her clench around him, her pale skin flushed with arousal, and at last she shrieked her release, leaning hard against the wall, head down and giving herself over to the fierce waves of pleasure seizing her sex. He rode her through the ecstatic spasms, gripping and stroking her luscious ass until she went nearly limp under him, barely able to keep her legs from crumpling.

"Oh, my god," she panted. "Oh, god, that's good. Don't stop…."

"Not stopping," he growled, his voice low and guttural, and she felt his hands on her body grow claws, fur flowing from the skin on his thighs and groin pressed against her.

She gave a yelp of surprise as he _woged_ , his Blutbad organ morphing as he moved inside her.

"Do you want me to…?" she gasped, and before she could finish he rumbled, "No!" and rammed himself deeper into her.

Rosalee braced herself against the wall as he raised her hips, lifting her feet off the floor. She relaxed into each thrust and clenched him tightly with each withdrawal, her love muscles squeezing him like a wet velvet hand. She took his _woged_ strength inside herself and fed it back to him, thrilling at his literal animal lust for her unleashed.

The clocks bounced and swayed at the force of him thrusting her against the wall.

Her palms were damp and perspiration beaded on her face under the fallen waves of her hair. He'd never taken her this roughly before and she was loving it.

 _Not so fragile after all, am I?_ she thought fleetingly, and clenched him hard when he thrust into her again.

She was rewarded with a low, deep howl as he climaxed, spurting hot and deep inside her and thrusting rapidly three more times in the throes of his orgasm. She heard a high-pitched yip and realized she was vocalizing with him, her _woge_ overtaking her in a victorious flash before receding again, its wave of heat washing through her and leaving her heart pounding.

Breathing hard, Monroe set her down on her feet and leaned his hands on the wall above hers, still inside her when she felt him un- _woge._ He covered her easily, being a half foot taller, and after a moment took one hand off the wall to wrap his arm around her, supporting her body as she trembled under him gradually catching her breath.

When at last he could speak, he managed in a bright, conversational voice, "Well, _that_ was fun."

Rosalee dissolved in helpless laughter at his tone and the ridiculousness of the two of them naked in the hallway, bodies still joined and their pants scrunched down around their boots.

"Ahhh! Okay! Don't make her laugh when I'm in the squeeze zone!" he yelped as her love muscles clenched him with each laugh. "Why do I always forget that?"

"Because you like it," she laughed some more, then relaxed so he could gently withdraw from her.

He stroked her bare bottom with reverence. "Finest ass on the planet, no question."

She pushed away from the wall, her loose bra finally falling to the floor. He caught her in his arms, steadying her as she took all her weight on her feet again and turned to face him, shuffling her boots entangled in her crumpled jeans. He let his hands glide down to cup her bottom and pressed her against the front of his body.

"I really like your suggestion," he told her, looking down with an almost-straight face. "We should try it sometime."

Rosalee slid her hands up behind his neck, nodding and still breathless. "Yeah, maybe we should." She leaned up for a kiss and he met her halfway, each kissing the other's lips lightly, upper, lower and corners, pressing tenderly full on, lips parting and tongues just touching, then kissing full on again.

Rosalee rested her head against his chest and they swayed together for a few moments, quietly enjoying the sated aftermath of their lovemaking. Clocks ticked steadily all around them in the peaceful morning quiet.

Monroe's phone beeped, alerting him that he had a message. They'd somehow been oblivious to its voicemail reminder until now. He bowed his head and pressed his forehead to hers.

"What do you want to bet…." he sighed.

"Not taking that bet. I don't like the odds."

"I better check it. If it's who we think it is…."

"Oh, god, he's probably already on his way over here!" Rosalee's eyes widened, mirroring Monroe's. "Does he still have a key?"

"No, no, thank god. He gave it back. Well, he and Juliette have one for emergencies…."

"How long were we…?" She bent to start pulling up her jeans but he reached them before her and gallantly pulled up her lacey teal panties over her shapely legs and the swell of her bottom.

"Allow me." He patted them into place, then pulled her jeans up to her waist. She took his face between her hands and kissed him.

"Yeah, that was a pretty long quickie," he agreed, smiling as she returned the favor, carefully pulling the waistband of his shorts out and over his now resting manhood, followed by his khakis. As they both zipped and buttoned themselves up, he added, "We just had to work out the logistics this time."

Rosalee laughed, turning to look back over her shoulder at the cluttered wall. None of the clocks was hanging perfectly vertical as before, and three of them were decidedly askew.

"Did time stand still for you, too?" she teased.

"Just long enough." Monroe gestured with the phone he'd just pulled from his pants pocket. He glanced at it and winced. "And the caller is…"

"Nick," she sighed, as he finished, "…Nick, of course."

He put the phone on speaker and played the message.

" _Monroe, you home? On our way over, call me if you're somewhere else. Hank and I need a consult."_

Monroe looked at the rectangular instrument of torture and complained mildly, "It's like being on parole. No expectation of privacy."

"You've been on parole?"

"No! No, just a figure of speech…."

"I have. Being Nick's Wesen helpers is way worse. Parole officers don't have that kind of time to lavish on individual parolees."

He looked stricken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

Rosalee gave his chest a little shove. "It's okay, long time ago. I can joke about it now. We're lucky we got away with our quickie before they came knocking on the door."

"Not quite yet." He searched the floor for their shirts and snagged them out of the stairwell shadows, shrugging into his while she shook her blouse right-side out. "Here, let me help you with that."

He swiped her bra off the gleaming wood floor and held it out so she could put her arms through the straps and settle the cups over her breasts. He fumbled a bit fastening its two rows of hooks in the back. "I'm a lot better at taking these off you than putting them back on."

She laughed with delight as she slid the soft blouse down over her head and put her arms through its full sleeves. "A matter of incentive, maybe."

"That's probably it." He tucked in his shirts and started buttoning but left the cuffs loose for now, rolling them up twice. He looked Rosalee up and down, smiling. "Well, we didn't muss your hair too badly."

"Oh, right…I'll duck in here and use the mirror." She went to open the dark-stained wood door to the downstairs bath, and in that moment they both stared at it, looked at each other and laughed.

"Next time," he said, his huge smile lifting the corners of his mustache as she grinned and nodded, brushing her fingertips over the door's smooth, unobstructed surface.

"Next time," she agreed, turning the knob to go in. "At least, the next time this overtakes us in the hallway."

Monroe made a show of looking out both ends of the hall to the rooms beyond. "There are myriad other possibilities…."

Rosalee made a doubtful face. "Probably not the kitchen."

"Yeah – too many sharps and breakables there. And probably not too comfortable."

Rosalee laughed and ducked into the bathroom, reaching for the extra hairbrush she kept in the vanity drawer for her overnight visits.

A loud triple knock sounded at the front door. Monroe rolled his eyes at her in the bathroom mirror.

"Just in the 'nick' of time," he murmured and scurried off to answer the door as she called after him, "You are _shameless!_ "

The two detectives stood on his porch, Hank shaking his head in sympathy as Monroe opened the door and Nick barged in past him, saying, "Monroe, good, you're home."

"Consolation prize," the older detective said, lifting a box of doughnuts. "We stopped at Pip's on the way over. Got a selection – I wasn't sure if the bacon maple was out of bounds for you."

Monroe gave a quick negative shake of his head, then added, "But not for Rosalee."

Hank got it, and gave Monroe a pained look. "Oh, man, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, she was just about to head out to the shop. I'll put some more coffee on…unless you guys are coffeed-out."

"Not this early in the day, we're not, thanks. Let's go put a net over Nick and get this done so you can have your life back for the day – I hope."

"You and me both, dude." He stood back as Hank stepped in and headed for the kitchen, then closed and locked the door behind him, the bright morning light glowing through its stained glass.

Nick had already filled the kettle and set it on a burner to heat.

"Mi casa es _still_ su casa, eh, Nick?" Monroe said pointedly as he joined them in the kitchen.

Oblivious, Nick said, "We finished our coffee on the way over, didn't grab one for you 'cause it would get cold by the time…"

"No problem, man, I'll just set up the press for another round. What's your pleasure, gentlemen, Ristretto Roasters, Coava, Sterling, Mr. Green Beans…?"

"Whatever's not so heavy duty it'll take the enamel off my teeth," Hank pleaded. "Man, you're quite the barista these days."

"Rosalee's influence. Let's go with Coava, it's her current favorite. Maybe she'll stick around for a cup and…whatever this is about."

Nick emerged from his forensic fog at that. "Rosalee's here? This early?" Then he realized and closed his eyes with a pained expression. "Sorry, Monroe. Juliette says sometimes I'm dense as a post. I didn't think…on a weekday?"

"Shop's open seven days, Nick. I'm trying to get her to close at least one day a week, have some time to herself, but she's as bad as you."

Rosalee came into the kitchen in time to hear that, her leather purse over her shoulder and jacket folded over her arm. She'd managed to sneak silently upstairs for her things while the men talked. "Bad as Nick? Never. Hi, guys."

"Rosalee, sorry for the intrusion," Hank said, modeling manners for his intense Grimm colleague.

"No problem, we just finished cleaning up after breakfast." She stopped to peer into the pastry box. "Ooooh, breakfast dessert! Are those bacon maple?"

"Half of them are," Nick said. "But Hank insisted on a selection."

"Good, bacon's off for Monroe. But not for me, especially on my way out." She put down her purse and jacket to sort through the box for one of the delectable little doughnuts as Monroe put coffee beans through the grinder. "I'll just take my bacon breath with me."

Her vegetarian Blutbad chuckled over the noise of the grinder. "Yeah, have mercy!"

Nick shook his head. "Bacon's its own food group at our house." It felt so good to say " _our_ house" again. "Juliette's even worse than me."

"Yeah, you must've been jonesing while you were living here." Monroe moved past Nick to check the kettle. "No smoked Bauerschwein on the premises, management rules."

"I made up for it outside. Most of what you fixed in the mornings was too weird for me. Did you do that on purpose?"

The water was just starting to simmer and Monroe turned off the burner, satisfied. He ferried the pot over to the waiting French press by the sink. "No way, dude, that's just the way I eat, especially when I'm sticking to full vegan. So you're not one for purple marionberry, quinoa and coconut flour pancakes…."

"Mmmm," Rosalee said, "I love those. With a drizzle of warm agave syrup, wrapped around some toasted walnuts…."

"You're bad as he is," Nick said, making a face.

"Well, they are much better with a side of bacon," Rosalee admitted, winking at Monroe, who rolled his eyes and shook his head fondly, pouring hot water into the press. "Almost anything is. Meanwhile these'll do fine, but I'll wait for coffee."

She went to a cabinet and pulled out four small yellow plates for their doughnuts and four large dusty-blue, brown-rimmed coffee mugs.

"So, what brings you here this _formerly_ fine Wednesday morning?" Monroe asked, leaning back on the counter while the coffee steeped. "Nothing too gruesome, I hope, so soon after breakfast. No Jägerbar disemboweling claws or gory crime scene photos…."

"Footprints," Nick said, "or tracks, or whatever makes these." He pulled out his phone and set up the sequence of photos, spreading his fingers to enlarge the image on its screen.

Monroe took the phone and studied the image, then flicked past to the next one. "Huh. Looks vaguely reptilian, or maybe avian. What, you got Big Bird on the rampage over cuts to PBS funding?"

"Let me see." Rosalee leaned in close against him, draping her arm around his waist. "Whoa. What's the scale on this? Where'd you find them?"

Their easy physical closeness was not lost on the detectives. Hank shifted uncomfortably, aware again of their intrusion on their Wesen friends' morning-after privacy.

"Forest Park, but way off-trail. Whatever it is, or they are, scared the hell out of two backpackers collecting samples for a botany study. There's one with my notebook next to it for scale."

Monroe flipped through to that photo. "Holy…hell! That's gotta be one huge Jurassic chicken!"

"It does look more avian than reptilian," Rosalee said. "But with that elongated middle toe and blunt talons. And it had to be heavy – look how deep the prints are! I mean, granted, these are bog-like conditions…"

"Or maybe Baba Yaga's decided to relocate her chicken-legged house to Portland? Have you run this by your resident Zauberbiest?" Monroe asked.

"No, Renard hasn't seen these yet. We wanted more information before we brief him."

"So what happened? Just scaring some hikers doesn't seem like enough to get you guys involved."

"Well, when they took off running from whatever was crashing through the trees toward them, making, and I quote, 'a deep, hollow, throbbing sound', they ran through a thicket into a huge…charnel pile. Bone shards, fur, shreds of decayed flesh. Stunk to high heaven," Hank said. "And they were sure they saw some bloody hiking boots and backpacks in the piles, like someone else ran into…this, and didn't make it. Forest Service went to check and found stuff belonging to some hikers who went missing, separately, two, three months ago."

"Keep flipping," Nick said. "Not pretty."

"And you haven't seen anything like this in your books?" Rosalee asked. She stroked Monroe's back as they leaned close, heads touching while they studied the grisly images of animal and human remains, bones picked and rotting flesh peeled off in strips amid torn bits of cloth and a hiking boot with the stump of a foot still in it.

Rosalee examined the photos with detached professional interest as Nick shook his head in answer to her question. "No fresh kills, right?"

"Ah, no," Nick said. "Everything the team found was pretty ripe."

"This looks more like scavenging," Monroe said. He handed Rosalee the phone and went to pour coffee before it steeped too long. Nick opened the fridge and brought out cream and almond milk for those who didn't take it black while Rosalee scanned through the rest of the revolting photos.

"Exactly," she said, as Monroe handed her a mug of coffee doctored just the way she liked it. She took a sip and chewed thoughtfully on her doughnut.

"So, you don't think it's Wesen?" Hank asked.

"Didn't say that," Monroe said, "given those tracks and what the backpackers heard and saw. But what kind? I mean, this doesn't look like a Geier deal unless maybe some went feral out there."

"No, no, they go for fresh," Rosalee demurred. "None of this is fresh."

"Wu was handing out Vicks to smear under our noses like it was trick-or-treat candy," Hank said, rubbing under his nose at the nasty memory.

"My guess," Rosalee said, "is Vulturi Foetida. Kind of the New World counterparts of Geiers but a lot more mellow. More like, Wesen condors…scavengers, not killers. But they're supposedly extinct or very close to it."

"No kidding," Monroe said. "Almost legendary. Real shy and reclusive, stay way back in the wilderness. There were a couple of sightings years ago in the Cascades, but never confirmed as far as I know."

Rosalee looked askance at him but he shook his head and shrugged. _Not by me_.

"Kind of like Bigfoot," Nick said.

"Well, we know Bigfoot was real," Hank said.

"Nah, that was just Wildermanner," Monroe said. "People tend to get them confused."

Rosalee peered into the doughnut box and rooted around for a different flavor, torn between a decadent cinnamon sugar drizzled with Nutella, honey and a sprinkle of sea salt or a deliciously gooey strawberry rhubarb.

"That," Hank said, pointing to the Nutella confection, "believe it or not, is a 'Dirty Wu'. You've got to wonder about our Lieutenant's dietary habits when Pip's names a concoction like that after him. And even worse, there's a secret menu version called a 'Tropical Wu' with toasted coconut on top. Drew is very proud."

"What? How'd that happen?" Rosalee asked, selecting one and examining it closely.

"Rumor is, the owners found out about his carpet- and cushion-eating episode – had to be from Drew himself, none of us were telling, and decided to memorialize their devoted customer with this everything-on-it doughnut. It's turned out to be a big favorite."

"I'm in," she said. "A Dirty Wu and, hmm, the strawberry rhubarb looks tempting."

"Must not have been a very filling vegan breakfast after all," Nick remarked, raising eyebrows at her and Monroe as he took back his phone.

"Morning exercise makes me hungry," she said blandly, making her selection and nudging the box toward Monroe.

Monroe's eyes widened just a little, his lips pressed together to suppress a grin. Hank cleared his throat softly and raised an eyebrow when he caught their attention. Monroe and Rosalee exchanged cat-that-got-the-canary glances, smiling, while Nick remained focused on the photos.

"I'll bet your forensics people find that the human remains were scavenged from elsewhere, and they died from other causes – accident, exposure, maybe another human," Rosalee predicted. "And the Vulturi Foetida found them and brought them back to their 'nest'. They're supposed to be huge, _woged,_ something like a ten to twelve-foot wingspan. Even so, they couldn't carry an intact human carcass through the air; they'd have to dismember it and bring it back in pieces."

She bit into her 'Dirty Wu' and licked the Nutella and honey off her lips. "Closest to fresh they're known to go for is hunters' field-dress gut piles."

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Mmmm, gut piles. Maybe that should be Pip's next new flavor."

"Oh, man!" Hank grimaced and shook his head.

"But why bring it back? Why not just eat it there?" Nick wondered, scarfing down a bacon maple between sentences. "They didn't want to lose any to other scavengers?"

"Could be. But that's a huge stockpile of food." Rosalee gestured at Nick's phone. "I'm wondering…wow, that would be amazing…if they're raising young out there?"

"In Forest Park?" Monroe questioned. "I mean, yeah, it's over five thousand acres and parts are pretty wild, but that's still mighty close to the urban jungle for a nest of those guys."

"Location, location," Hank said. "Seems everybody and every _thing_ wants to move to Portland."

"Another case of habitat loss, maybe?" Rosalee mused. "It'd be interesting to know if they stick around or if they're just feeding up to move on somewhere more remote." She licked some of the sugar and honey off her fingers, a bit suggestively, Monroe thought.

"So, if that's what this is, how do we explain it to the Forest Service and our people?" Nick asked.

"Well, if Forensics comes back with the findings Rosalee expects, no crime's been committed," Hank said. "Just some kind of animal scavenging, and the backpackers were freaked out by what they found; who wouldn't be? Easy to believe they imagined whatever made that mess was after them."

"I hope by now they've moved on and taken their young, if they have any," Rosalee said fervently. "According to the books, so-called civilization's driven them from their habitat just about everywhere except the Andes and the wilds of Canada…and maybe the Cascades."

"Well, if there's no evidence of foul play, there's no further involvement for us," Nick said, "for a change. You're sure they're not aggressive?"

"Anyone will defend their home and offspring, or for that matter their food supplies," Monroe said. "But unless these guys are a real aberration, no, not from any of the stories. They're so shy they won't even interact with any other Wesen. Kind of aboriginal, live in small family groups from what little I've read. Like Rosalee said, they probably flew the coop right after the backpackers stumbled on them."

"Let's hope so for everyone's sakes," Hank said.

"Unless the missing hikers, what's left of them, died by human agency," Nick said.

"People get lost in the forests all the time," Monroe said. "Most get rescued or blunder their way out, but sometimes the bodies are never found. Unless these missing persons were up to no good out there, it's probably just bad luck or stupidity."

"You have any references on these guys?" Nick asked Rosalee. "The Grimm books tend to be heavy on Old World Wesen, not so much on the New World types except for known troublemakers like Coyotl and Wäschbars."

"Somewhere in my dad's more esoteric books; that's where I read about them way back when I was in training. Come by the shop later and have a look." She glanced at the main kitchen clock. "Yikes! I need to get going. Thanks for the Pip's." She leaned over and kissed Monroe. "Bye, honey."

She paused to rinse her sticky fingers at the sink. Hank and Nick finished their coffee and Nick said, "Pit stop, then we're out of here."

"Yeah, I need to get started, too." Monroe took his coffee with him as he headed down the understair hallway toward his workroom, Nick close behind on his way to the bathroom. Then Nick stopped at the odd sight of all the clocks askew on the hallway wall.

"What happened here?"

Monroe glanced at the wall and paused, reaching out to straighten the clocks closest to him.

"Ah, life in Cascadia, man. You never know when the earth's going to move again." At that and Rosalee's strangled laugh from the kitchen, Hank widened his eyes, his lips clamped shut, and raised his eyebrows at his Wesen friend. Monroe gave him a sly wink.

Nick turned to look back at Hank and beyond him toward the kitchen.

"Did I miss something?"


End file.
